Libertas Amoris
by SevLovesLily
Summary: Ancient Europe!AU: Felicianus is a freedman merchant living in Pompeii, and it's by the strangest of circumstances that he meets the man he's been waiting for his whole life - Hludovig, a man of the Germanic tribes up north. He carries a lot of weight on his shoulders, though, and their relationship is downright dangerous. But soon enough, being together is the safest thing.
1. Prologue

**Hey look, I'm back, and with another historical AU. This time it's GerIta, and the year is circa 400 BCE in the Roman Republic. I decided to write this story a long time ago when I was taking Latin and was learning a lot about ancient Roman lifestyles, and now I'm finally doing it.**

**This story will probably turn out to be considerably shorter than my medieval!FrUK fic, but you'll continue to find as much historical accuracy as possible. **

**And while I'm on that subject, there are several things I have to note before you read the prologue. Since it's Ancient Europe, the Italy bros' names are Felicianus and Lovinus because almost all male Roman names ended with _-us_. And instead of Ludwig, it'll be Hludovig to fit the way Germanic names were in the time period. Also, at the end of each chapter will be things to explain certain parts of the chapter you might not have understood. Also - the title of the fic means "The freedom of love" in Latin. It sounds a lot better in Latin, doesn't it?**

* * *

Felicianus and Lovinus were extremely fortunate. Out of all the men who could have bought them from the sleazy-looking Greek slavetrader, it was Roma Vargatus, notably one of the kindest men in Pompeii, who did. Their parents had died and were being quickly replaced before the two brothers had any idea what happened.

There were men who treated their slaves like the horses that pulled their carts, and there were men who bought slaves merely so they could treat them with cruelty. Roma knew as soon as he saw those two boys—the youngest of the lot—that he had to keep them from a horrible life. And the only way to do that was to buy them himself.

While he had come from a long line of rich men and had no idea what it was like to live a life of servitude, Roma still felt a lot of compassion for them. As well as for all people, really. Especially children—he just couldn't help but be drawn to how cute the infants were, even if that was supposed to be a woman's interest.

But then, while he was an extremely kind man, he was also rather proud and boisterous—if not for anything else, then for his name. Any man named after the republic he lived in would be likely to grow up with such a mindset, of course. It was well-known how loud he could be, whether that was referring to his attitude in general or the strength of his voice during intimate relations with women.

Oh, the women. Roma was simply a lover of them, and as Felicianus and Lovinus grew up under his care, he taught them the beauty of women as well. He treated them like his own children (which he'd never actually had himself) and taught them everything he thought they needed to function in the world. They would do their day's work for him and then join him in the atrium to learn his lessons of life. When they got a bit older, he even had a tutor teach them properly.

His treatment of them truly was more fatherly than masterly. It was probably because of the empty feeling where a wife and children should have been.

Oftentimes as a child, Felicianus would take some of the food that he delivered from the kitchens, and Roma would catch him at it. The first time it happened, the boy just began crying because he knew that he could be punished—but Roma merely chuckled and let him have it. He had no problem with them having food, and he didn't care if it was off of his own plate. They were just children, after all.

And Felicianus did seem to have a special interest in food. He was always very happy to serve, especially if it involved the kitchens. As a young boy, he would have conversations with the chef and ask about cooking. It seemed very obvious what he was going to end up doing in the coming years, once he was taller and more capable.

Lovinus, however, wasn't enthusiastic about any of his work, despite having been in this life since such a young age. It wasn't really because of the fact that he was a slave, though: It was much more because he couldn't do his work well enough. Trays of food, he dropped. Tunics he was meant to wash, he ripped. There didn't seem to be a single thing he could do correctly, and it frustrated him to no end. His younger brother would get all this praise from Roma as well as the adult slaves, and Lovinus—while he wasn't punished—was more or less ignored. All because he had weak legs that would give out and make him clumsy. It wasn't fair.

This bitterness was the reason that, at the age of thirteen, he tried to convince Felicianus that they should run away.

_"But—brother, we don't have a bad life right now! We're hardly even slaves. What do you want to throw this all away for?" he argued, feeling sad that his brother would want to leave._

_ "For—for…." Lovinus couldn't think of the right way to word it. He hadn't been the best learner of the Latin language, either. "Just to leave. I want to leave this place and go where I will not be judged."_

_ Felicianus's expression became worse, and it was at this point that Lovinus started changing his mind if only for the look. "…Roma would be heartbroken. We're like his sons, you know. He cares for us, Lovine."_

This conversation became a common one during their teenage years. And while they didn't know it, Roma was aware of it. It did make him sad that Lovinus felt so inferior to his brother that he wanted to leave, but it made him sadder that, as their almost-father, he would have to let them leave someday.

Yes, he did wish for them both to be their own men and be happy, but he also didn't want them to leave him. He'd gotten used to their company over the past twenty years, and now he was just letting them go. Just like any man would do with his sons. _It's okay, Roma,_ he told himself. _You're doing this for them. You bought them in the first place so they could have good lives, and the best life for them now is to legally free them. They know how to get women and survive. You taught them well._

He hoped that the boys thought the same. Either way, like most ex-masters were with their freedmen, they remained friends. And Roma hoped very badly to remain a sort of father-figures to them. All these years, he'd rather liked having someone to look up to him for guidance, and he didn't want them to stop.

After the freeing ceremony was officially over, Lovinus looked happier about it than his younger brother. Felicianus gave a tremendous, but sad smile, and hugged Roma very hard around the middle.

"If it pains you this much to leave, you may stay another fortnight," Roma laughed, and Felicianus laughed with him.

"That would kind of defeat the purpose of the house you made a deal on for us," Lovinus said seriously, though beneath his eyes Roma could really tell that he was truly a bit sad as well.

"I know, I know." Their ex-master smiled and clapped them both on the shoulder. "Boys, I want you to promise me one thing—that you both marry beautiful women."

This time there was laughter from all of them, though with the older brother it was more like just exhaling, and his slight smile seemed almost pained. Neither of the other men thought much of it.

"_You_ never did, though," Felicianus pointed out, smirking.

"Yes, well." Roma put on a smile but couldn't help but look down for a second. If there had been any practical reason for him to find a woman to stick with, he would have done it. But he had realized at a young age that having children seemed to be impossible for him. So he'd never thought a woman would wish to stay with him if he couldn't impregnate her. (_Oh well,_ he'd always tried to assure himself with, _more sexual promiscuity at the brothels for me._) "I'm strange. I simply can't stick to one woman, since all of them love me!"

Not feeling as bad as he should have for keeping up this lie to them, Roma clapped their shoulders once more and bent down to kiss both of them on the cheeks.

"What are you two waiting for? Go out and ready your new home!"

Returning the kisses, the boys complied, one much more outwardly eager to leave than the other. Once they were no longer on the wide street and within Roma's range of sight, he sighed and looked out there once more before returning inside. It was several hours before he gave an order to a slave again.

* * *

Merely months after they'd moved into their new home, Lovinus had a sack packed up.

"But we have such a good life here—why do you wish to leave again? Do you not like living with me? Is that the problem?"

His shoulders slumping, Lovinus sighed. "No, brother. You were never a problem. _Pompeii_ is the problem. Being a servant was the problem. I—"

"But we're freedmen—"

"Yes, I _know_ that we're free. But—well, not really. I'm not free. I still do things to please others and work for the people of Pompeii. I'm stuck in this villa and stuck in the ways of life that Roma taught us! I don't _want_ that, Felicianus, I… I just want to leave. I want to go travel northwest and see what those lands have. This life isn't for me."

Having known his brother his whole life, Felicianus understood what he meant. Lovinus had never seemed like he belonged or even wanted to belong. He'd never wanted to be the way that Roma tried to teach them both to be. So he understood why Lovinus wanted to leave.

But that didn't mean Felicianus wanted him to go. Lovinus was his brother and the only family that had always been there—when they hadn't any parent-figures, Lovinus would take care of him. For his whole life, even if he wasn't very good at it, he'd protect him. And Felicianus wasn't sure if he still needed that protection, but he still thought he'd end up being reckless without him.

Lovinus seemed to realize what his younger brother was thinking by the look in his eyes, and he tried not to look sad as he spoke.

"You have to let me go, brother. I know you like it here. You can stay and continue cooking and perhaps one day you'll get one of the beautiful women here to be your wife. But I can't."

One thing Roma had taught them as children that it was important for a man to show a lack of negative emotion and have a tough exterior. This was also one thing that Felicianus had always failed at, since he simply couldn't keep himself from crying—especially now. Except they weren't just tears of sadness: He was also happy for Lovinus, in a way.

Lurching forward, Felicianus hugged his brother tightly and kissed him on the cheek. "Be careful, Lovine. I don't want you to get killed by thieves or rogues or beasts, but I can't force you to stay here. I'm… going to miss you."

The tears flowed freely onto Lovinus's shoulder, but he didn't care to wipe them off just yet. He returned his brother's kiss on the cheek and hugged him tightly for several more seconds, trying hard to keep from crying himself.

"I'm going to miss you, too. And I will be careful."

"Can you promise me that you'll return someday?"

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Lovinus squeezed his brother's shoulder and nodded. "Someday. I promise."

He gave Felicianus one more kiss on the cheek before announcing that he would have to leave now—before nightfall, wishing his brother a good life, and heading out the door.

* * *

**Explanations/notes:**

**-The reason that Felicianus addresses Lovinus as Lovine is because in the Latin language, there's also a Vocative case, in which the endings of names change. Remember Julius Caesar - "Et tu, Brute?" Yeah, he's addressing Brutus, so the "us" goes to "e." The e makes an "ay" sound, btw.**

**-Unlike how slavery was in a lot of places (especially in America, way later on), slaves in Ancient Rome were generally treated like family. Although, a master (called a dominus) is allowed to kill his slave if he has a reason, which could be as small as them dropping something. Most weren't nearly that cruel, though. But there was this one guy who was really rich and had hundreds of slaves and he would kill them as soon as he had a reason to - by dropping them in a pool full of eels.**

**-The atrium is just the living room of a Roman house, which is called a villa.**

**-Most merchants would use their own home for their job unless they worked for someone else. So Felicianus runs his pub in a building attached to his house.**

**-A _lot_ of Greeks went to Rome to be slaves, especially cooks. **

**-It was a very common thing in both Rome and Greece to be openly bisexual, since Christianity didn't exist yet, and homophobia was really only present in that it wasn't honorable for a Roman man to be penetrated. So as long as you were a top, you were free from any sort of ridicule - so of course most men in faithful, mutual relationships would keep it a secret who was the pitcher and who was the catcher. Also keep in mind that the term _Roman man_ really only applied to men who weren't slaves, so if the relationship was between master and servant, it was fine. And with women, no one cared because there were no dicks involved. Marriages weren't even sacred in this respect - women couldn't cheat on her husband with a man because she could get pregnant, but she could sleep with other women all she wanted. And the husband could sleep with other men _and_ women all he wanted.**

**I think that about clears up the Roman history for today. And don't worry, the actual chapters will be much longer. This was just to get a solid background in before I started the real story. Reviews are much appreciated, and I hope you continue reading!**


	2. Hludovig

**I'm so sorry this took so long, I really am. But I started the new semester of my Junior year and I now have Statistics, Humanities, Physics, and Latin III consuming my life. I might have to continue with an update-every-other-week basis, though, since I have a fic idea that's simply too good for me to wait on. Thank you to those who have already reviewed/followed, though!**

* * *

After a while, Felicianus was doing fine without his brother. He didn't miss him nearly as much as he had at first, and he truly was happy most of the time. He wasn't even completely alone—in his pub, he had another man who cooked with him. A Greek man named Heracles. And he was very friendly—and _very_ good with women.

Oftentimes, however, Felicianus noticed that Heracles would go for the men as well. It was one of those things that made him jealous of his Greek friend: He wanted to flirt with a lot of the men that came into the pub, but they were simply too intimidating. He didn't know how to flirt with them, and no amount of Heracles's coaching made him confident, so he just stuck to women. It would be easier on him, anyway, since there were far less women who were interested in other women than those who were interested in men.

Strangely enough, though, he'd never had a wife, not even a lover. When people asked him about it (which was generally something along the lines of "What is such a handsome and well-to-do man like you doing without a wife?" ), he mainly shrugged and said he hadn't found someone he liked enough yet. And really, he did have that privilege. As the owner of a popular pub, he was directly in the middle class and had no one who would want him specifically to marry their daughter. No one would benefit from it.

But that didn't mean that no one wondered about him. He'd have several men eye him warily once they found out he didn't have any female companions—they probably assumed that he had a male lover and didn't want to divulge that fact because he took the bottom role in the relationship. Personally, Felicianus thought that he'd rather be submissive with a man than dominant, if only for the fact that his thin stature would make it difficult to be all that dominant.

And that, of course, was why he liked women so much. It wasn't so much that he was more attracted to them than to men, but once again that they were easier to flirt with—and because they were so easy to please. A few well-placed compliments and they were smiling and giggling. And Felicianus just liked to see them smile. It made him feel happy to make others happy.

Growing up, Roma had taught him very much about women. He'd been taught that they were all beautiful and deserved to be appreciated, and so flirting had become a sort of art. Well, Roma referred to it as one, anyway. It was important, necessary to be a successful man. Not necessarily a successful Roman, but just a man. He needed to be able to charm women.

At this point in his life, of course, Felicianus wished that Roma had taught him how to charm men, too, so he didn't have to stand by and just be jealous of Heracles's abilities while the other man leaned over a table and chatted up a rather attractive young man.

But of course, there was more to do than that. Felicianus had food to focus on at the moment, and so it shouldn't have been directed at his fantasies of finding a handsome man to be with.

It couldn't help but occur to him, though, that that was likely one of the reasons he had yet to have any sort of relationship with a woman. Sure, they were beautiful, and they had nice smiles that made his day brighter when he knew that he caused them, but he couldn't really see himself growing to care for any particular woman enough to want to marry her—or even, really, have relations with her.

It was probably one of the reasons that he never went to brothels, either. Aside from that, though, there was also the fact that he had been a contrarian to this idea since childhood—he didn't think that women should have been treated like sexual objects. Sex clearly wasn't the only way to appreciate a women, so it seemed horrible to him that a brothel was the only real line of work for women other than slavery.

Other men thought he was extremely strange for these ideas—even Roma. They simply were not the ideas of a proper Roman man. But as much societal pressure there was, Felicianus didn't care. He had his own morals to worry about.

At the moment, though, he only had lamb's meat and spices to worry about. It wasn't very late in the evening at all, so all those without families or friends to eat with—or those who were traveling through—were there, and he was likely going to continue to have business for several hours yet.

As he walked across the pub to hand someone their food, he passed a table that Heracles was serving—well, more like just flirting. The Greek man bore such a smile that Felicianus never saw him with unless he was speaking with someone he had a very great interest in. And the black-haired man he was talking to had a similar smile, so Felicianus felt happy for him. He wondered if perhaps Heracles might ever keep a lover for more than a week.

"Wild boar," he announced with a smile to the table of two women at which he'd arrived. They'd already said they wanted to share, which gave him a feeling—but then again, they might have just wanted to save their denarii. So he didn't refrain from smiling and calling them pretty and just flirting really rather shamelessly.

All they really did was giggle at his efforts, but he was satisfied all the same. Felicianus generally wasn't aware whether people were laughing with him or at him, anyway.

At the end of his productive day, Heracles was already walking rather quickly in the street, that black-haired man in hand with him, and once again, Felicianus was alone in the pub. Alone in his entire home—if you didn't count the couple slaves he had, who cleaned for him. But they never liked to talk to him much, so it wasn't as though they were truly his friends.

With a sigh, Felicianus briefly thought about how he missed his brother and then brushed the feelings aside so his feet could drag him to the kitchens. There were things he needed to prepare for the next morning so they could be ready for him—thin slices of meat to dry, and vegetables to soak. So he began humming and got to it.

That was another thing that set him aside from a proper Roman man. He really didn't mind doing "slaves'" work, and oftentimes, it actually calmed him. Then again, he _had_ been a slave himself.

That, however, made for an especially big shock when he heard a very distinct _thump _break the near silence in his home. Startled, Felicianus looked around to see if anything had fallen—though he already knew that it couldn't possibly have been in the room with him.

He was the sort of man to have a clearer mind when he was scared, rather than the other way around. Floating in his mind were the two choices of what that noise had come from: A slave had dropped something, or there was an intruder in his house. Marcellus and Helena rarely dropped things, so he was forced to think that it was the latter.

Felicianus really hated the prospect of resorting to violence, but he also rather hated the prospect of dying at the hands of a thief or psychopath. So he cautiously grabbed a knife that he'd stuck into one of the tables and started out of the kitchen and into the corridor, looking around the corner as he did.

He remembered how as a child, Lovinus had often berated him for being so scared of so many things. And he wondered if his older brother would be annoyed with him now, despite the fact that he wasn't showing nearly as much fear as he was feeling. But then he shook his head and righted himself—he was an adult, and he'd been without Lovinus for two years now. He needed to stop thinking about him, especially now, when it wasn't going to help.

The corridor and atrium were empty, which lessened some of his fear, but then it increased again when Felicianus went to check the other corridor and the rooms that stemmed off.

When he opened the door to his storeroom, he caught sight of the intruder and froze. Not only because there was a sudden, imminent danger to him, but also because of the man's appearance. He was just—nothing like anyone Felicianus had ever seen before. A tall, muscular-looking man, he looked rather ill-fitting crouched on the floor with a half-eaten loaf of bread. His tunic was very shabby—like he'd grown out of it but had nothing else to wear.

But what drew attention away from everything else very quickly was that this man had skin of the palest tone Felicianus had ever seen, as well as the lightest hair and eyes. Everything about him was so _bright_ and _different_ that even his fear was caught off guard.

It was the same for this man, it seemed, because he spent a good several seconds in the same position, just staring wide-eyed at Felicianus, bread in hand. There was no malicious intent in this man's eyes, Felicianus could easily tell in that time, but rather just as much fear as he himself felt. It was plain to see that all he wanted was some food.

Before he could express any sympathy or ask any questions, however, the unknown man had started to make a break for the window to escape. Mere moments before he was ready to fenestrate himself, Felicianus managed to squeak a word out.

"Wait!" he called out, feeling his sympathy and curiosity rise with urgency. "I'm—I'm not going to do anything to you, I promise!"

At that, he realized that he was still holding a sharp instrument and promptly threw it to the side so that it made a loud _clang_ and proved that he was unarmed. It occurred to him that Lovinus would probably get angry at him for abandoning a weapon when dealing with someone potentially dangerous. Except he somehow had strong reason to believe that this man wasn't going to hurt him.

For a moment, it seemed like the light-haired man was going to go through with his escape anyway, but he then miraculously stepped back from the window and fixed Felicianus a wary look. Apparently satisfied with his lack of a weapon after looking him up and down, the man returned to the spot he'd been in when he was discovered. His expression remained a confused, possibly still afraid, frown all the while.

Relieved, Felicianus gave him a small smile and continued to just look at him. Had he not just been stealing his bread, he would have thought the man was a god, by his appearance. Perhaps he actually was, and this was something of a test, like many stories told of.

"What is your name?" he finally thought to ask after practically being struck dumb for several seconds.

The man's eyes widened very slightly, and Felicianus could see how startlingly blue they were even in the dim candlelight. His brow furrowed a bit more as he glanced down and took a nervous breath—it was rather clear that he wasn't extremely comfortable revealing things about himself. Rather than give him any fear, it strengthened his theory that this man was a god.

"Hludovig," he finally told him in somewhat of a breath. His voice was actually as expected—deep, rich, and also a little tense.

But it didn't even register to Felicianus that what he'd said was even an answer to his question at first because it really didn't sound like a name. Why, it didn't sound like a word at all. This man couldn't possibly have been from the Roman Republic….

When Felicianus merely cocked his head and looked at him with more curiosity and confusion, Hludovig beat him to the punch of asking anymore questions.

"I—I am very poor…. And I have no wife or children, but I am hungry. I just wanted food—I am sorry."

Hludovig's explanation sounded rather strange, if only in the respect that he spoke in slightly broken Latin. Felicianus could understand what he was saying, but it didn't flow quite right, and it was in a strange accent that definitely couldn't have been Roman, Greek, or even Egyptian.

"It is not necessary to apologize," he told him, shaking his head slightly and giving Hludovig a smile that seemed to surprise him. And then it occurred to him that the man's explanation wasn't entirely believable in the first place—call it intuition, but he simply knew that there had to be more to it. His curiosity was getting the better of him, anyway. "Where are you from? You—well, you can't possibly be Roman…."

Hludovig seemed to give a resigned sigh, already having known the owner of the villa he'd broken into would not be an idiot. With that, he took a couple seconds' pause that looked a lot like reluctance and simply said, "I was born in a tribe up north."

"How far north?" Felicianus inquired, even more curious now.

The man gave him a brief, intense look, but he couldn't quite place what it was supposed to mean. "Your people have never even been there. It would take at least two months to travel there, and that would be without rest."

In his amazement, he forgot to wince at the use of "your people"—and then it suddenly occurred to him like a candle was lit in his brain.

"Oh!—So you're Germanic!" It was only a second or so later that he realized what all that meant. "But then—what are you doing in Rome? It is very dangerous for you to be here, my people—"

"Yes, I know that no one of the barbarian tribes are welcome in Rome," Hludovig said somewhat bitterly, though also looking a bit confused as he cut Felicianus off. "I did not choose to come here because I liked the scenery."

In that, Felicianus could sense the annoyance and sarcasm, and he briefly felt slightly scared if only for how intimidating this man's stature and composition was. But he was also desperately wondering everything about Hludovig now.

"…Are you running away from the law?" He finally thought to ask, as it had occurred to him after strenuous thought of what could possibly be the man's reasoning for being all the way down here in Pompeii. Actually, that seemed pretty obvious now that he thought about it.

His eyes flashed again, and now Hludovig felt almost hopeless. There was no way to deny this—this man could easily turn him in just for him being here, so he found no point in refusing to admit it. So he looked down and nodded, then said, "If I am found by Roman authorities, my head will be on a pike."

In the next couple seconds, Hludovig looked purposely away from the other man's eyes and faced his options: He was much bigger and stronger. He could easily knock the Roman out with his bare hands and then leave, and then escape to another city where he would probably survive for another week before moving on once again. The only problem with that would be that soldiers would be right on his tail after this man warned them about him, and thus the only solution was to kill him entirely.

But that, for some reason, felt completely out of the question to him. Even if this man might turn him in or report him, he by no means wanted to kill him—he was far too innocent and, so far, kind. A punch to the side of his skull would have to do—and yet, he still hesitated.

Which was a good thing, for Felicianus had quickly thought about the situation and then said—"You must stay here, then!"

During that very short pause, Hludovig's panic disappeared and was replaced with immediate awe and unbelievable relief.

Felicianus truly was sympathetic. He as an individual person could have nothing against the "barbaric people" that he'd heard some people—including Roma—speak of. Especially considering these past few minutes with this man, who actually spoke Latin and looked more like a god than a barbarian to him. Because of the common Roman prejudice, he figured that Hludovig hadn't even had to do anything drastic or unnecessary, but perhaps stole a piece of bread or escaped capture. It would be against his own conscience for him to force this man to remain a fugitive.

Well, he would still be a fugitive. It was just that now, Felicianus would be harboring a fugitive. The thought didn't scare him nearly as much as it should have, for his sense of moral duty felt more important.

"It is safe here, for I live alone but for my slaves, so no one can find you!" he went on, smiling and proud of himself for coming up with this solution. "And you shall no longer have to steal my food because now that you live here, it's your food as well."

The surprise was evident on Hludovig's face, for he would never have expected this man or anyone else to accept him into their home and just decide that he _lived_ there so quickly. In fact, his instincts should have told him that this was a trap, that this Roman was trying to get him to stay so he could go report him in the middle of the night and have him taken away for sure— that it was in his best interests to hit the man over the head and escape anyway, but…. This man was just smiling so honestly, and there was simply no way cruelty could be behind those kind brown eyes. And then it finally occurred to him—

"I—thank you, so much," he started, approaching the man and not really making an attempt to keep his voice from shaking with such relief. He stopped himself when he was an arm's length away. "You have not yet even told me your name—"

"Felicianus!" the owner of the name said brightly, smiling as he took Hludovig's hand and pulling him out of the storeroom and down the short corridor. The larger man was surprised at the contact, which was obvious from the sudden tenseness in his hand, though he didn't pull it away. "You can stay in my brother's old bedroom," he told him, and the prospect of having a real bed to sleep in almost made Hludovig ache with relief and—well, happiness.

He let himself be pulled by Felicianus until they'd arrived at the threshold, at which he decided he could maneuver himself.

"Thank you, again, Felicianus," he said as he began to walk to the bed that was across the room, letting out a deep breath. It was somewhat difficult to even fathom that he could be this lucky—all he could do was look at this kind and strangely beautiful man and feel the utmost gratitude for him.

Silent for a moment as he watched Hludovig make his way to the bed, he simply said, "Feliciane."

"Hm?" Hludovig frowned at him.

"_Feliciane_," he repeated, chuckling slightly. "When you address someone, the _us_ at the end of their name is _e_." He took a pause to watch the man's lips curl into a sheepish smile. "I'm going to teach you to speak the Latin language properly… and I shall purchase some new, clean tunics for you."

He smiled warmly again and left, slipping around the edge of the doorframe like a mother who didn't want to lose sight of her child until it was necessary. As Felicianus made his way to his own room, he thought of how he was proud of himself for doing something useful and giving this man a place to stay, and he thought of how this would be the first time he was not living alone in two years.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, he wondered if he'd only wanted the man to stay so he wouldn't have to be lonely anymore.

* * *

**Explanations/Notes:**

**-It's sad, but it's true. As well women were treated compared to other areas at the time, they still had it kind of bad in Rome. If they weren't the wife to a wealthy man, then their only options as far as making money/living went was to be a slave or to be a "dancer" at a brothel. And, well, a prostitute. Many women slaves, once their masters freed them, chose to remain slaves because it was much better than being a professional whore. Oh, and I forgot cult leader/temple worker. Women could work in the religious field but really only if they were just there to worship a particular goddess or something. And there was this one cult that was almost entirely women, and the only way men could move up the social ladder in that cult was to cut their genitals off... but that's a totally different story.**

**-Denarii were the coins they used in Rome as currency. They were mostly silver.**

**-Having someone break into your house actually wasn't all that uncommon back then. There weren't very many methods to keep people out, as complicated locks were only for royalty and the very wealthy, and glass wasn't used for windows until around 100 A.D. The most that would have been on a window were wooden shutters. And Rome was abundant with thieves, so you can do the math. Figuratively.**

**-The word "fenestrate" means "to jump out of a window," just so you know. It's from the Latin word "fenestra," which meant window. I just really felt the need to use this word in something, okay?**

**-As it's been said in Hetalia, the Germanic tribes were both Rome's protector and enemy. They blocked the _worse_ tribes (aka the Vikings) from conquest down farther south, but they also attacked Romans plenty of times. Romans who lived in modern-day south Italy, which is where Pompeii was/is, would hardly have even known of their existence if they weren't educated. And since Romans borrowed a lot of religion from the Greeks, there were a lot of legends of gods arriving at peoples' houses under the guise of normal people in order to tend their kindness. So it really wouldn't have been considered crazy for Felicianus to guess that Hludovig was a god.**

**-Because Hludovig doesn't have any traditional Latin endings (us, a, um, o, r, x, s, i, e), it's a very valid thought for him to be confused. To him, it most certainly would have sounded like gibberish.**

**-Romans were also very hospitable, so even for someone who had broken into your house, it wouldn't be all that strange to let them stay. In fact, it was basically a rule in Rome to be hospitable. Since they adopted a lot of Greek traditions, they adopted those rules as well, and the three main rules were 1) If a traveler comes to your door, you have to let them stay at least 2 weeks and be a good host. 2) If your guest(s) overstay their welcome, you can kick them out. And 3) If you're a guest, don't be rude. **

**I hope this chapter and not-so-brief history lesson was satisfying, and I look forward to more reviews from you guys!**


	3. qui in nomine

**I'm sorry it took so long, but I had two weeks with a shit ton of work to do, as well as another fanfic to start. And I decided that I'm going to stop apologizing and just view my every-other-week deadlines as suggestions because it puts less stress on myself.**

* * *

Felicianus went through the expected debate with himself the next morning—whether the previous night's events had been real or a dream. Of course, having met a man of the Germanic tribes and deciding he was going to live with him, it would have been strange of him to _not_ wonder if it had all actually happened or not. And he had to admit—if it turned out to not be true, then he'd have been rather disappointed. He'd been so happy to have a permanent house-guest.

Once he was completely lucid, he still figured that the only way to make completely sure would be to check the other bedroom. Felicianus did so with caution; the only thing he really feared, though, was not finding Hludovig on the other side.

As he pushed the door open, a sliver of white turned into the fully bare upper body of the Germanic, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. His head turned around quickly with the sound of the door, and his eyes seemed to flash when they caught sight of Felicianus's.

"…Good morning," he greeted somewhat awkwardly, having expected the Roman, considering his demeanor, to greet first. But he hadn't expected the man to be too preoccupied with relief that he was still here to remember to say anything, of course.

Beaming at once, Felicianus returned the greeting (much more cheerfully, too) and allowed himself to actually step into the bedroom. He found himself oddly focused on Hludovig's chest, despite the fact that nakedness was not an issue in Rome and he had seen many men's chests before. Then again, none of them had been that muscular or that pale. It was, at the very least, briefly captivating.

"I didn't know if you were awake or not, so I just decided to wait," Hludovig explained, shifting awkwardly on the bed again. He hadn't wanted to just walk out into Felicianus's atrium or triclinium—not necessarily for fear of being found by his slaves, but because he didn't want to risk being rude or awkward.

"It's fine," Felicianus told him, not picking up on his guest's social ineptitude. He smiled and beckoned him out of the room and into the corridor with him. "I always sleep a little late, but you can go into the triclinium if you want to, from now on."

Following him, Hludovig wrinkled his brow, thinking that was rather odd. "You are strange for a Roman," he tentatively told his host, trying to come off as slightly joking and not rude. Which he was, really. And smiling down at him a bit, too. "Don't most Roman men rise early to follow a strict schedule?"

Felicianus looked back at him and laughed. "Well, I'm just a tavern worker. There aren't many things I have to do in the early morning. I can go to the forum anytime I like, and there's no reason for me to go to a barber every day, like most men. My face will not let me grow a beard." He said that last part with slight disappointment, as he felt he would look much more masculine and attractive with some facial hair. He wasn't very old, but he wasn't young, either, and he was one of the only men he knew who could not grow a beard.

Having learned much about Roman life, Hludovig still thought it was a bit weird. Most Romans weren't so lenient. Then again, neither was he. He was probably the strictest person he knew.

The Germanic acknowledged his answer with a short hum and continued to follow him until they reached the knife on the floor from the previous night. Felicianus didn't seem to notice it, so Hludovig stooped to pick it up before he could accidentally step on it. He handed it to the smaller man with a wry look, really starting to realize how unobservant he could be (not that he saw it as much of a problem), and Felicianus offered a confused-then-grateful look in return.

"Thanks. I almost forgot that you're here because you broke into my house."

And that hit him like something hard to believe. Just last night, Hludovig had been a fugitive breaking into a random house and stealing their food. Now he was a guest in the house, and this man was treating him like an old friend.

He also realized that Felicianus had said these words with a casual tone and a smile, despite it all. The light-heartedness of it really did lift his mood a bit.

There was already breakfast ready in the atrium when they arrived—but only for Felicianus, as his slaves obviously didn't know that he had a guest. Upon realizing this, he gestured to the couch but didn't sit down himself.

"Help yourself; I shall go tell Marcellus to prepare a breakfast meal for me and make sure he knows you're here—don't worry, my slaves can't tell anyone. They wouldn't dare," he added at Hludovig's sudden look of worry.

Trusting him, the larger man sat down but still hesitated to eat until he had left the room. As grateful as he was, he also wanted nothing less than to be rude in any way. It felt awkward to do anything in a home that wasn't his own, even if he had been stealing from people for a while.

When Felicianus returned from the garden, where his slaves had been, tending the plants, he took the space next to Hludovig to wait for his breakfast, and the man suddenly felt some of his awkwardness go away and was confident enough to ask a question.

"What did you tell them?" He just needed to make sure.

"I just said that I had a friend visiting and told them not to be alarmed when they saw how light-skinned you were. I thought it was best just to tell them that you had a medical condition. And I also told them not to tell anyone I had a guest. I'm not sure that they completely believed me… but it doesn't matter. There's nothing they can do."

Hludovig expressed his relief with a soft grunt and a slight nod, then resumed eating the last bits of his breakfast. Felicianus watched and noticed how he took care to not waste anything—he was probably starving after being a fugitive and having nothing but what he was able to steal from various people's houses for a while. He wondered if he'd be able to handle being in that kind of situation—if he'd be able to bring himself to become a thief in order to survive. If he'd even be able to avoid getting caught, anyway.

"How long have you been a fugitive?" he wondered out loud, and it didn't really occur to him that it might be too personal of a question. "How long have you had to live without a proper amount of food, I mean."

His plate now practically licked clean, Hludovig looked to his host and felt a bit of shame. He wasn't the sort of man to admit when he had suffered—last night had really been enough emotional-openness he was willing to allow himself to do. But then he supposed that Felicianus did have the right to know.

"For two months or so," he said quickly, like it didn't matter.

That, Felicianus picked up on, and it made him feel sad. He _knew_ deep down that whatever Hludovig had done, he didn't deserve to live in fear for it, and it made him sad that a man who must have normally been so confident of himself—guessing by his strong stature and stiff composure—was now forced to this. He very much wanted to know exactly what it was that the man had done, but even he had the social grace to keep that question to himself.

Shaking away his slightly sad look and smiling again, Felicianus shifted his sitting position to face Hludovig more. Before he could start a real conversation, though, the other man spoke up with an expression of concern.

"So… what will my life be like here? I know I cannot venture outside these walls, and there are surely many things you have to do with your time…."

He widened his eyes a bit to acknowledge that he was listening and then thought about it for a moment. "Well, I'll be spending a lot of time here to teach you proper Latin," he said with a slight laugh, easily having noticed all the grammatical errors in what Hludovig had just said. "Otherwise, I usually only need to leave my home to buy things at the market—though I can have my slaves do that, too—and to work in my tavern. You won't be alone here very often, if you're worried about that."

Hludovig normally wouldn't have minded it all that much—except now he wasn't sure what he would do when he had the house to himself and the slaves. And he felt safer from the law when the master of the house was here, despite how much smaller he was than himself.

"Oh," Felicianus began to add, "and I'll have to remember to have new tunics bought for you today. I can't let you wear only rags or trousers when you're a guest of mine." Smiling, he lightly touched the other man's bare shoulder in a friendly manner. It made him blush slightly—though Felicianus couldn't tell whether it was because of the contact and the fact that the man's skin was light enough to turn red very easily, or for some other reason.

_…Oh._ He'd almost forgotten that he was currently bare-chested. When Felicianus had visited him in his new bedroom earlier, he hadn't put it back on before leaving the room. And now he was suddenly very self-conscious and somewhat uncomfortable.

As though on cue, it was then that Marcellus entered the atrium with a plate full of bread and fruit for Felicianus to eat, and he gave a few moments' glance over to Hludovig, who insistently stared at the opposite wall and didn't make eye-contact the whole time.

"Thank you, Marcelle," Felicianus said cheerfully as his slave bowed and made to leave the room. But then he stood and held out a hand. "Wait—I'd like you to go to the market for me and purchase a few large tunics. Ones that would fit him." He gestured to Hludovig and accidentally, though lightly, hit his broad chest.

After an "Of course, master," and an exchange of a bag of coins, the slave was out the door and Felicianus was sitting next to Hludovig in the next second.

"While we wait for him to come back, why don't I start helping you a bit with Latin?"

* * *

When his slave returned approximately an hour later with new tunics, Felicianus was still on the couch in the atrium, explaining verb conjugations to Hludovig.

"Flavius wished to know why you wanted tunics so large," Marcellus told him, still standing in the atrium after his master and the guest had gladly taken the tunics from him. He looked as nervous as Felicianus suddenly felt, realizing that people would wonder and mentally smacking himself for not realizing it before. He was suddenly panicking that Hludovig was close to being found out.

"What did you tell him?" he asked, trying his best to keep his voice even. Which meant things were serious, since he rarely kept his voice even at all.

"I said that I didn't know," said Marcellus with a short bow, obviously hoping very much for his luck. Even with such a kind master as Felicianus, it was natural to be fearful of punishment.

That relieved both him and Hludovig, though, and they both showed physical signs of relief. Hludovig, especially, since this meant that he was not already in danger. Not any more than he already perpetually was, anyway. With that, the slave realized that he could leave, and so he did.

"I hope those fit," Felicianus said brightly as his guest pulled one of the tunics over his head, disappointingly hiding that chest from view. And they did—almost perfectly, really. It was nice to see him in proper clothes, not looking so naked or pitiful.

It felt nice for Hludovig, too, for it had been a very long time since he'd worn anything but rags.

* * *

It wasn't quite as difficult for them to become accustomed to the new lifestyle throughout the week—it wasn't even all that difficult to keep Hludovig a secret, as Felicianus rarely left his own house for very long. Most of their time aside from tavern hours were spent with each other, and no one outside the house had the slightest idea.

Hludovig seemed to actually know a great deal of Latin—he'd simply needed to be reminded of several things. Like he'd actually been raised in Rome but then went a significantly long time without speaking the language at all. Felicianus couldn't help but wonder, but he also realized that it wasn't his place to ask. Though he did express, once Hludovig no longer needed to be reminded of grammar quite as often, his slight disappointment that he didn't get to teach him anymore. He'd liked teaching the man; it felt nice to be able to lead such a strong, strict man in _something_.

Every morning they ate breakfast together and talked, generally about each other. There was plenty of their lives to relay—though it was mostly Felicianus who spoke and Hludovig who listened. The Germanic wasn't all that enthusiastic about relaying his past, anyway. The only thing he'd been willing to say much at all on was his brother, who had raised him. And the Germanic culture in general, when Felicianus seemed ignorant or the topic simply seemed relevant.

But he also didn't mind listening. Sometimes his host would speak too fast or simply too much, and it would be admittedly annoying even to the point of Hludovig making a grunt of disapproval, but it was nice to listen to the man speak. Even for a young man, Felicianus had a bit of a high voice—one that was like honey. The passion with which he spoke about some things… it was captivating. It drew every bit of him in. And he only ever noticed after he was in very deep, at which he would draw back and revert to his stiff sitting position, straight and heart-poundingly breathless and embarrassed, though Felicianus didn't even notice.

And for every rest-of-the-day, they just went through the motions. Talking, eating, spending time. When Felicianus needed to go work in his pub with Heracles, he apologized and asked Hludovig to stay in his room, which he was always fine with if it meant his safety. But his host still apologized, each and every time. He didn't seem to be able to express how sorry he was.

After less than a week of staying there, he stopped thinking of Felicianus as his 'host' and instead as his friend.

* * *

"There is a gladiator fight in the amphitheatre today."

He said it casually during their small breakfast meal, as though it were no more significant than telling him that there was a bug on the floor.

But Hludovig wasn't unaware of Roman culture, and so he knew the importance of this event. At once, he took a half-eaten piece of bread out of his mouth and frowned. "Are you going to attend it?"

Because of his slight thick-headedness, Felicianus took that as Hludovig being upset rather than confused, and that only made him resolve his decision even further.

"No, I will stay here with you. I wouldn't want you to be stuck here alone."

"But—you don't need to stay with me all the time…. I'm not a child and I don't need to be looked after—Go watch the fight. Don't let me stop you." Of course he didn't actually want him to leave, but he also didn't want to make it so that Felicianus didn't have any fun. It was a tradition, anyway. Practically mandatory.

Looking slightly surprised, Felicianus seemed to forget that food was in his hand, for he stopped picking at it, and in the next few seconds, his expression calmed as he realized what must have been going on in Hludovig's head. And he smiled.

"I don't want to go in the first place, really," he told him, sounding casual. "Gladiator fights are a custom, but I never liked them. Even when my previous master took me to them. I just… well, I think that life has value. And I don't like seeing people being killed. There's too much blood and I get sad."

At that confession, as normal as it must have sounded to Felicianus, Hludovig stared for a moment, taken aback. He'd known enough Romans in his life to know better—this sort of mindset was almost unheard of, even in Roman women. He waited for a second to see if the other man was joking, but then he realized all the other not-normal things that he did, and he began to find it amusing.

Leaning back in his chair, he let his lips dip into a small, fond smile. "You are very strange for a Roman," he said, a soft chuckle apparent in his breath and a certain look quite obvious in his eyes. It was him _letting go_ of his stiff composure and just letting himself be outwardly happy, as he'd only done a couple times so far in his stay. And it had far much more meaning than it had the first time he'd said it, now that he knew the man better.

Not quite thick enough to not notice that look, Felicianus grinned and leaned purposely forward, feeling it safe to be within Hludovig's boundaries now, unlike how he generally felt around men he wanted to flirt with. The Germanic was just as intimidating as all the attractive Roman men in Pompeii—even more so, at times—but not now. Now he was approachable and even though they already spent much time together, it simply felt so much easier at the moment.

"Roma used to say that to me," he remembered with a laugh, a gleam of memory in his eyes. "'_I teach you all this about women and fighting, Feli, but you only want to play and cook_…." He tried his best to imitate Roma's voice, which only made it sound ridiculous and funnier than it would have been otherwise—although he did make the hand-gestures, too.

For several seconds they were both laughing, and Hludovig lost his awkwardness long enough to say, "_Feli_? Should I call you that?"

Grinning wider, he shook his head. "It would be more proper as a woman's name…. It was a childish nickname, really. But if you want to, you can."

As though imitating Felicianus, he shook his head as well, smirking at the table for a moment. He'd only been joking, anyway. "In my tribe, actually, we never shorten names. Your name is long, but it would not be respectful to shorten _Felicianus_ to _Feli_ because that would mean that I don't like you enough to want to say your entire name. Which I do, of course."

Did he really need to add that? It was already obvious, but saying it only made it seem like more than simply _liking_. And while that may have been true, he didn't want it out there, despite how difficult it was for Felicianus to pick up on things.

Luckily enough, he _didn't _notice anything odd about that and thus had nothing to say in regards to it. Instead, he smiled at the idea of names being important. It was a rather nice one.

That, and he liked the way Hludovig said his name. Well, he liked the way he said everything. His Germanic accent blended with the Latin language was so abnormal that it was just too interesting to not pay attention to. The way his name was pronounced on Hludovig's tongue…. It was just so different, and strangely beautiful.

"I don't wish to shorten your name, either," he said after a while. "The only thing that would even make sense—in Latin, I mean—is 'Ludo,' but that wouldn't fit you at all…. In fact, it's exactly the opposite of you. If I gave you a Latin name, though… it would be _Severus_. Yes, that's exactly you."

He laughed a little again, and Hludovig smiled, thinking for a few seconds, then said, "Haeterr would be yours. Germanic name, I mean. If you were to have one. It means 'cheerful'—just like your Latin name already does." That was really all that was needed to describe him. Everything about Felicianus was just _good_ and happy and nice.

That made him wonder about how it was that names often ended up accurately fitting the man it belonged to. Was it names that shaped people by making them live up to them, or was it one of the gods creating destiny in a name? It was something he'd wondered about before, but now it felt really important. For he was sitting across from a man who was also very important.

"_Haeterr_," Felicianus repeated, liking the sound of it. He liked hearing those Germanic words which didn't sound like words. As strange as it was, he liked knowing that there were cultures and people and lives completely outside Rome—more than just the Republic, but other kingdoms and lands where everything was different. It was confusing to fathom, but he liked to know it.

"The beginning sound needs to come from the back of your throat," Hludovig advised, just like he'd said a few time before in reference to his own name. Romans simply found it difficult to have a new way of pronouncing certain things. "Like this. _Haeterr_."

Felicianus said it again and sounded more convincingly Germanic, and they both continued to go back and forth with their different languages and cultures while the rest of Pompeii was miles away.

A gladiator fight was today, and they were both sitting in his office, talking about names. It was wonderful.

* * *

**Explanations/notes:**

**-Roman life was very routine. Especially for Roman men who were bankers or in a high position of power. The length of a day's hours were based on the amount of sunlight they had that day, ergo sundials, and there were set things to do each hour. Wealthy men went to a barber every single day, since it was a sign of high-classness to be able to afford to be clean-shaven. And considering the fact the he has a successful tavern and lives alone, Felicianus should be wealthy enough to do so, but he can't. It's kind of like how in LotR dwarves find it really important to have beards.**

**-A _triclinium_ is a dining room. But that's technically only a rough translation, since they work much differently than modern dining rooms, so I'm going to keep it as that instead of translating it. Roman tricliniums have a round table in the middle, where a dinner is put, and three couches around it where people lie down and eat. If there's more than three people, then they share couches. Yep, Romans cuddled while they ate dinner. And it was mostly dinner that they ate there - which is why I have Felicianus and Hludovig eat in the atrium or his office.**

**-I kind of intend Marcellus to be Seaborga, since I didn't want Felicianus's slaves to just be random people. Not sure about Helena yet, though.**

**-Gladiator fights were _really_ important in the Roman Republic, especially Pompeii. When they had them, everyone in the whole city just dropped their work and went. For the most part, the only people who stayed behind were slaves and farmers - though men would want their wives to stay home too, since they didn't want women to watch. But they came and watched anyway, since women wanted to see death and gore just as much as the men. So did children. It was a huge family fun thing, to go and watch men violently kill each other. If you didn't like to watch them, you were a total weirdo. But I didn't want to change Felicianus's personality just to fit the time period, since that would be a pretty drastic change. I mean, this was before Christianity and before anyone_ really_ valued human life, but still. There had to be some people with this mindset. Although, while I'm on that subject, the Latin language has about 20 different words that mean kill, but only one word for love. Really shows their priorities, doesn't it?**

**-I'm being kind of forward with Felicianus's and Hludovig's attraction to each other because they were much less nervous about relationships back then than people are now. Of course, Hludovig's just as awkward as ever. But Felicianus, even if he might think the feelings are unrequited, is going to be pretty obvious. If Romans held the slightest amount of affection for someone, it's like, BAM, it's love. There was no discrepancy back then. Frankly, the amount of time it's going to take for them to come together romantically will be pretty unrealistic for the time period.**

**-_Ludo_ means "play" in Latin, which is why it's the exact opposite of Hludovig and would never fit him. He's all work and no play, man. And _Severus_ means "severe", as you might have guessed, so it's a perfect name for him. Yeah, like Severus Snape. J.K. Rowling chose her characters' names for a reason.**

**-And lastly, the title of the chapter basically means "What's in a name." I decided that I'm going to have all the chapter titles in Latin, save the first, of course. **

**Hope you didn't get too hopeless in waiting for this chapter, and weren't disappointed when you read it! Reviews are always appreciated, since I'd love to see what you all think of the chapter.**


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